I have just hung up from one of my weirder telephone interactions.
Phone rings, I answer. Without preamble, the voice on the other end (gravelly, very forceful) begins:
“Hello, Helen? This is Ruby, and I’m telling you…”
I tried to break in. “Ma’am?” She went right on.
“…you’ve got to do something about Bubba, he’s on such a tear.”
“Ma’am” – a little louder and firmer.
“He’s taken that old truck of his and….”
She’s not stopping. Time for the back-of-the-courtroom voice.
“Ma’am, you have a wrong number!” She ran on for a few more words, then…
“What?”
“You have a wrong number.”
“Are you Helen Day?”
“No.”
“Isn’t this 123-5544?”
“No, you have your last four digits out of order.”
“You’re not Helen.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because this isn’t her number, and that’s not what my parents named me.”
And then I hung up. I am curious as to what Bubba was doing with his old truck, though. Sounded potentially interesting, to say the least.